Scars of a Ringwraith, Strength of a Shieldmaiden
by RogueAngel1
Summary: We know that the weapons of a Nazgul affect the visible and the invisible, so this fic is about Eowyns recovery and the dreams she has. Implied Aragorn/Eowyn, nothing serious. A little gory I hope the rating was OK. Thanks for all your reviews guys, keep


Scar of a Ringwraith, Strength of a Sheildmaiden  
Disclaimer: Every character is Tolkiens, all of Middle Earth is his...lucky guy..  
  
Aragorn stood over the nearly lifeless body of Lady Eowyn of Rohan as she lay, so still and peaceful that she seemed beyond death, beyond life, beyond the war of darkness and light that raged with unchecked fury all around her. The son of Arathorn sat beside the sheildmaiden in the house of healing, and took her hand. So cold it was that it seemed to have come straight from the heart of Caradhras to chill his own battle scarred hand, and his own war hardened heart.  
He doesn't wish to see this lady die. Nay, more than anyone who had already been sacrificed to the insatiable appetite that was war, he wished this great lady to live, to recover. No man has fought more bravely, no woman cared so fiercely, no elven princess more fair, and no dwarf lord more hardy. Indeed this is a woman with no peer...He leans against the stone wall, her small hand still clasped in his, and slept as she did.  
Eowyn found herself on a dark plane- alone. Alone but for the shadow of smoke that billowed with increasing intensity in the distance. She wore her armor and her hand rested on the hilt of a sword. This brings her a small measure of comfort as she looks down the field do see riders approaching, not on the familiar steeds of Rohan, but on the winged steeds of the Nazgul. Eowyn regards them calmly, she is a sheildmaiden of the house of Eorl, she knows no fear.  
The first of the black riders is nearly upon her when she sees his face, the familiar face of treachery and lecherous thoughts; Wormtongue.   
Her blade flashes twice, once on the neck of the beast Wormtongue rides, severing head from body as easily as slicing bread. Blood pours around her and stains her rainment red. The second swing of her sword sends Wormtongue flying from the back of the doomed beast and into the dust at her feet. She turns a deaf ear and a cold heart to his pleas for mercy and brings the blade into a savage downward arc that tears through armor, muscle and bone to bury itself in the depths of his heart.  
A warriors pride in the defeat of an enemy courses through her blood to fill her with a dark energy. She pulls the black hood from his face, and stares into the eyes of King Theoden. She has killed her father. Her hands shake, but her sword sits firm. She cannot grieve, not while an enemy stands.  
The second Nazgul bears a mace. She catches the vicious downward swing on her shield and returns the blow with her sword, taking head from shoulders with a sickening wet grating sound. The hood falls back, and she steps back, her shield sliding down her arm. This Nazgul bears her brothers face. Eomers eyes, so clear and gray in life seem duller now, like the dirty ice on a river in the spring time. His lips are pulled back in a silent scream, and his every feature is a reproach, a rebuke to her for her cruelty.   
An arrow passes by her face, to plant itself in Eomers dead eye, the final insult. She whirls, blade crossing her field of vision only for a moment before finding it's mark, the throat of the bowman. He falls from his steed into the dust at her feet and she tears the cloth away from his face, to look at Aragorn, the son of Arathorn.   
The son of many kings stares back at her, not in death, but in hate. The blade falls from her hand to lie next to him in the dust, and the sheildmaiden runs in complete surrender.  
It isn't long before she reaches a river, swift moving, still swollen from winter with pieces of ice adding their frigid daggers to the water.  
She stands on the precipice of the cliff, and with conviction born of warrior discipline, throws herself from the height.  
The fall is endless and impossibly quick. She lands on her back and feels the bones in her spine, in her ribs, in her neck all of them cracking on impact with the water. She raises her hands above her eyes- they stay red, even in the cruel cleansing of the water her hands are stained the dire pigment of Mordor. Floating ice pierces her shoulder, sending the tremors of cold through her body as the blood leaves it. Then she sees no more.  
Aragorn wakes with a start, to see Eowyns crystal gray eyes staring back at him. Staring at him in death. The shelidmaiden has finally surrendered, he thinks. Swallowing hard, he allows a tear to fall onto her golden hair, and reaches out to close her eyes.  
His hand is stopped by hers. Eowyn pulls Aragorns hand to her lips and presses a kiss to the worn and callused flesh. He leans down to return the kiss, lingering on her lips for a long moment  
"Welcome back Sheildmaiden" 


End file.
